


eyes up on the prize

by we_are_the_same



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Clubbing, Established Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Fluff, Louis as a wingman, M/M, No Angst, Pining, Zayn being an idiot, meet cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-29 09:21:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20079847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/we_are_the_same/pseuds/we_are_the_same
Summary: There’s this bar. It’s large and crowded and dark, music loud enough that the bass reverberates through the bodies on the dance floor, loud enough that it’s hard to make conversation.There’s this boy. Who moves through the crowd with ease, who always seems to wear a smile and who Zayn feels drawn to even when he’s never exchanged words with him. He’s wanted to, once or twice, but by the time he’d worked up the courage (or found it at the bottom of a few shot glasses) he’d never been able to find him in the swarm of people dancing.There’s this bar and there’s this boy and there’s Zayn, on the sidelines, sipping from a beer and wondering if tonight’s the night he’ll finally gather the courage to speak to him before he loses sight of him.





	eyes up on the prize

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this](https://me.me/i/one-time-i-saw-a-cute-girl-so-i-tied-877102) post. This is a short fic I started before I went on holiday and before I jumped in to pinch hit for the summerexchange. Now that that's finished I decided to revisit it and finish it. Hope you enjoy!

There’s this boy.

No.

There’s this bar. It’s large and crowded and dark, music loud enough that the bass reverberates through the bodies on the dance floor, loud enough that it’s hard to make conversation. 

There’s this boy. Who moves through the crowd with ease, who always seems to wear a smile and who Zayn feels drawn to even when he’s never exchanged words with him. He’s wanted to, once or twice, but by the time he’d worked up the courage (or found it at the bottom of a few shot glasses) he’d never been able to find him in the swarm of people dancing. 

There’s this bar and there’s this boy and there’s Zayn, on the sidelines, sipping from a beer and wondering if tonight’s the night he’ll finally gather the courage to speak to him before he loses sight of him. 

There’s Zayn and there’s also Louis, who Zayn knows will complain about being dragged out on yet another weekend but who also lives for what he calls ‘meet cutes’ and who would complain even more if he didn’t get a front row seat to what Zayn secretly hopes will be a promising first meeting. 

There’s Zayn and there’s Louis and there’s alcohol, and Zayn frowns into his pint, wondering how much beer he will have to drink to replace the hollow feeling in his chest. It has everything to do with the fact that it’s been a good thirty minutes since they got here and he still hasn’t even seen the guy he tentatively labeled his crush. He’s only calling him that because he doesn’t know what his name is, and he has to call him something, lest Louis would come up with something to call him. Zayn knows Louis well enough by now that whatever he’d decide, it’d be far more mortifying than it is to call him his crush. 

“Cheer up,” Louis says, nudging Zayn, and Zayn frowns into his beer even harder. “I’m sure he’ll show up.”

“And then what?” They’ve had this conversation before, and every time Zayn makes a resolution that tonight will be the night, but it never is. “A guy that good looking is gonna see me coming. And besides, I don’t even know if he’s gay.”

“This is a gay bar,” Louis points out helpfully. 

Zayn knows that, but he also knows that it doesn’t necessarily mean anything. He’s never seen his crush with anyone (which is probably for the best), at least not _with_ someone. He’s usually got friends with him, which is another reason that Zayn’s never quite plucked up the courage to approach him. It’s not that he’s not social, granted, he’s no social butterfly the way Louis is, but he can make conversation, has met and picked up other guys in bars before. There’s just something about this one though. He’s very much Zayn’s type, is the thing, from the biceps to the sweetness that seems to always be present on his face. And Zayn isn’t good at flirting. At putting himself out there and being vulnerable. Sure, he could pretend, could go up to him and see if he’s down for a good time, but then what? He wants something more, ideally, even if it’s stupid to crush on someone he’s literally never spoken to. Who knows, he might open his mouth and say something so horrible that Zayn will never want to lay eyes on him again, but somehow he doesn’t think that he will. No, he’s probably going to be amazing, and Zayn is going to make a fool out of himself, and they’ll never get to kiss let alone go out on a date.

It’s nearly Valentine’s day, and there’s small red balloons bobbing in the corner, cleverly tied to a coat rack. Zayn watches them for a moment, finishes off his beer before looking back towards the crowd. It’s getting more crowded the later it gets, and he knows that even if he’ll be able to find him, it’s probably going to be another wasted night. In more ways than one.

After another beer, he sighs, gets up from his chair and points towards the loo. Louis is on his phone - presumably texting Harry, who is meant to pick him up later, and Zayn has to remember to ask Louis for the house keys before he leaves - and barely looks up, just makes a small motion to indicate that he’s understood.

There’s only a small line in front of the loo, and it doesn’t take Zayn more than five minutes until he’s done and ready to make his way back to Louis.

Except, Louis isn’t sitting at the bar. 

Wondering if Harry had decided to show up early and they’re on the dance floor, making a spectacle out of themselves, Zayn glances in the direction of the floor, eyes soon finding the familiar form of his friend.

He also finds a second familiar form, one that has his heart stop for a second, before it beats erratically. Because that’s his crush, right next to Louis, and Zayn knows that Louis would _never_ embarrass him in front of his crush (at least not on purpose), but he also knows that Louis is the type to act and think later. He watches, frozen to the floor, as Louis grins up at the guy, motions for him to hold out his hand. His crush seems as baffled as Zayn is, as Louis then ties the string of one of the balloons around his waist, though whatever Louis tells him seems to be enough of a reassurance that he just smiles. 

Zayn arrives back at his seat at the same time Louis does, and all it takes is a confused, narrow-eyed look. One that is answered with a smug look. “His name’s Liam.”

“Huh.” Zayn says, and Louis smirks. _Liam_. Zayn likes that. It fits him somehow. “What did you do. What was that, with the balloon?”

Louis’ smirk grows, if possible, even wider. “You’re welcome. At least now you’ll be able to find him in the crowd later on.”

There is a lot Zayn could say to argue with that. For one, Liam (Liam! He finally knows his name, doesn’t have to refer to him as his crush anymore!) is probably going to untie the balloon from his wrist the moment he’s moved away from Louis’ spying eyes. And also, the excuse of having lost him in the crowd always meant that Zayn didn’t have to confront the possibility that maybe he just didn’t have the guts to talk to him, even filled with liquid courage. 

“I’m not sure I’ll dare to,” he admits, the words mumbled into his drink because he knows Louis isn’t going to call him a coward or make fun of him, but he does feel sufficiently shamed even by his own head. 

“You better,” Louis tells him. “Our house keys are on that string.”

*

Harry shows up fifteen minutes later, when Zayn’s been agonizing over Louis’ ‘helpful’ action for fifteen point three minutes. He’s close to hyperventilating, fingers slipping on the bottle of beer he’s holding. 

“What do you _mean_ our house keys are on that string,” he asks, much like he’s done five times already. Louis just shrugs. “Louis.”

“Zayn.”

“_Louis_.”

“Harry.” Harry cuts in helpfully, arching an amused eyebrow as he joins them, slides an arm around Louis’ waist. “What did he do now?”

Louis makes an affronted noise, digs his elbow into Harry’s side, but not hard enough to hurt, apparently, because Harry just pulls him closer and noses at his temple. Zayn watches Louis melt and it aches, how much he wants that. 

“He-” he starts, but Louis interrupts him, his arm around Harry’s middle.

“I gave him an excuse to go and talk to Liam.”

Harry hums, and Zayn lets out a whine, because of course Harry is not going to see how incredibly stupid this was. “He gave him our house keys,” he hisses, and at least Louis has the decency to look sheepish. He still shrugs though.

“How long has it been since you first saw Liam?”

Zayn sighs. “Months.”

“And how long have you been chatting my ear off about how gorgeous he is and how much you want to talk to him?”

Zayn glares a bit at that. Grumbles. “Months.”

Louis nods, satisfied, tucks himself closer under Harry’s arm. “All I did was what you didn’t have the balls to do. And unless you want to sleep on a bench tonight, you’re going to have to get over whatever’s stopping you from going up there.”

Harry’s looking at him curiously, but doesn’t say anything. Zayn sighs again. “He’s-”

“Don’t even finish that sentence,” Louis cuts in. It’s a testament to how their friendship works that Zayn isn’t even surprised by it. “I know what you were going to say. He’s out of your league. Bullshit. Back me up here Haz.”

“Bullshit.” Harry supplies helpfully. He’s smiling now. So is Louis. 

“You’re a catch, Z. If Liam doesn’t understand that, then he’s an idiot. And you’re welcome to come and say _I told you so_. But,” Louis shrugs again, but this time it’s less cheeky and more sincere. “At least then you’ll know, yeah? And you won’t be wasting anymore time on this fool. Because he _is_ a fool, if he’s not interested.”

*

Zayn knows that Louis is right. He knows that Louis is just looking out for him, in his own way. It doesn’t make his shoes feel any less heavy with lead when he finally sets foot on the dancefloor, in an attempt to find Liam.

At least Louis and Harry have gone home, after buying him some more liquid courage. Zayn’s not drunk, not by a long shot, which is both good and bad. Bad because he feels terrified, doesn’t know what to say once he finds Liam. Good because at least it means he won’t be puking over his shoes. Though, with the way his stomach twists, he won’t completely rule it out.

Liam’s not that hard to spot, because he’s still - somewhat to Zayn’s surprise - wearing the heart balloon on his wrist. He’s also, thankfully, alone, so Zayn tells himself not to be a coward, and steps up to him. His first stuttered out “hi” barely reaches his own ears, let alone Liam’s, but his second, though no more steady, is a bit more audible. “Hi.” 

Jesus. He’d known Liam had a nice smile, but having it directed at him - even if it is a polite smile - is sort of making Zayn’s knees wobble. He’s even more good looking from up close too, has these eyes that Zayn sort of wants to drown in. “Hi?” 

“I’m Zayn.” Zayn says, because that’s the sort of thing you do in a bar, isn’t it? Introduce yourself? Despite how loud the music’s being, it feels like they’re in a small bubble, where it’s all just background noise and he swears he can even hear Liam breathe.

“I’m Liam?” He says it like it’s a question, much the way he’s said hello, and Zayn wonders if he thinks him weird. Before he can fully freak out about that, he focuses his attention on the balloon bobbing somewhere to the left of Liam’s head. 

(Though he won’t admit it, he’s suddenly grateful for the excuse Louis provided him with)

“You um, you met my friend earlier? Louis? He tied the balloon to your wrist.”

Liam looks at his wrist, his puzzled expression making way for another smile. Bigger and, dare Zayn imagine it, more sincere? “Ah.” He says, nods. “I was wondering what that was all about. He said I’d find out soon enough.”

_Fuck_ Louis, honestly, because Zayn’s blushing. He just hopes it’s dark enough in here that Liam won’t notice. “He’s an asshole,” he lets it slip before he can stop himself, then makes a face. “I mean, he’s not. He’s my best mate. He’s just also an asshole.”

Liam doesn’t say anything, but he arches an eyebrow up at Zayn, and Zayn sort of wants to run away. But he really doesn’t fancy sleeping on a bench, and also, how much worse can Liam’s impression of him get? “He knows you’re my type,” he says, more bluntly than he perhaps should. “And he was sort of sick of me not having the balls to come talk to you.” 

He sort of wants the ground to swallow him whole, but Liam doesn’t look perturbed. He sort of looks like he’s trying to hold back a smile. Which is better than nothing, Zayn supposes. In for a penny, in for a pound, he decides, and takes a deep breath. “I’ve sort of seen you around. And like, you’re really fit? But you also seem really nice, and I’m a total jackwad when it comes to talking to guys, unless I’m like, trying to pick them up, and like, you’re probably not even interested in guys or in me, but, like, I didn’t want to - I don’t know. I wanted to get to know you, I guess, and I didn’t want to make a fool of myself, so I never did, and I’m sure you understand why, now.” He ends, sort of miserably. He doesn’t even look up at Liam anymore. “So if you could just, like, give me the keys back that Louis tied to your wrist, then, I’ll be out of your hair. Yeah?”

When he finally chances a glance at Liam - through his lashes, just in case he’s really looking horrified - he finds the other looking sheepish. “Oh.” He says, and Zayn didn’t expect his words to make Liam _want_ to get to know him, but he still feels sad at the hesitance in his expression. “I, um,” 

Zayn swallows, steels himself for the inevitable.

“I sort of lost them?”

Their eyes meet, and for what it’s worth, Liam looks genuinely remorseful. “I’m _sorry_,” he says, sounding sweetly sincere, the balloon nearly hitting him in the face when he holds his wrist up between them. “I don’t know what happened, but, your friend must’ve not tied the string tight enough because the knot slipped loose and I didn’t notice I’d dropped the keys until you came up to me just now, and I would’ve interrupted you, but-”

“But I was too busy making a fool of myself.”

“I was gonna say, you were rambling on while looking completely adorable,” Liam admits, still looking sheepish, though Zayn figures he probably looks quite similar after those words. “I’m really sorry. I’ll help you look for them?”

This is not how he expected their first meeting, their first proper conversation, to go, but Zayn can’t complain. Or well, he can, because he really needs those keys, and Louis is an absolute fuckwit for not tying them to Liam’s wrist properly, because what if they fall into the wrong hands and someone robs them tonight? There’s not an awful lot of value in their apartment, but still! Zayn really sort of needs his laptop for school. “Thanks,” he says, his breath coming out more like a sigh. “I’m really sorry Louis got you into this mess.”

Liam gives him a small, private feeling smile. “There’s worse ways to spend my evening,” he says, and while Zayn knows he’s just acting nice because he feels sorry for all the ways Zayn’s made himself look like an idiot, he appreciates the help.

“I appreciate it,” he tells him, because he really does. “I’m really not looking forward to spending the night on a park bench, and I’m pretty sure Lou’s already left with his boyfriend, and he _definitely_ won’t be picking up the phone once they’re home because he’ll be too busy rimming Harry and they’re _loud_ and-” he realizes he’s rambling again and cuts himself off abruptly, ducking his head as though he’s already searching the ground for his keys. 

Liam doesn’t say anything, he just crouches down, glancing past sneakers and stiletto heels to survey their immediate surroundings. Zayn waits for his blush to die down a little before doing the same thing. 

They’ve canvassed about a quarter of the dance floor when Liam, practically on his hands and knees, looks up at Zayn. “You can stay at my place, if we don’t find them?” He offers, and it’s so sweet and so sincere that Zayn sort of melts a bit and doesn’t quite know what to say. Something in his expression must make Liam feel like Zayn’s judging him, because he shrugs. “I’m not like, trying to get you to hook up with me. Just. It’s sort of my fault, I should’ve paid more attention.” He gives Zayn a timid smile. “I would’ve, if I’d known _you_ were the reason your friend tied that balloon around my wrist.”

Zayn isn’t sure whether that’s a good or bad thing. If Liam had known, if he’d paid more attention, then Zayn would’ve had his keys, and he probably would’ve fled the scene as soon as he’d gotten them back from Liam. Is that what Liam’s saying, that he can’t wait to be rid of Zayn? He’s too embarrassed to ask, his brief courage having left him the moment he had to drop on all fours to crawl over a filthy dance floor. “You don’t have to,” is all he says, pointing the flashlight on his phone towards a particularly crowded part of the floor in the hopes that something will reflect the light - and won’t turn out to be another bottle cap. “Louis is the one to blame here.”

Liam chuckles, his hand brushing by Zayn’s as he shifts forward a little bit. “I mean it. You can stay the night.” 

Zayn meets his eyes, feels his heart skip a beat. Of course Liam wouldn’t just be hot, he’d be sweet too. He isn’t even making fun of Zayn for landing them in this embarrassing situation. Sure, it might be Louis’ fault, but if he’d just had the courage to go and say hello one of the million times he’d seen him before, they wouldn’t be getting their hands and clothes dirty by trying to find his keys. He’s sure he looks a sight now, with sweat running down his face, with someone having spilled beer over him when they practically tripped over him. Sure, he’s made a lasting impression, but not a good one. “Thanks,” he whispers, sure that Liam’s not heard it but he’s understood nonetheless, if the way he nods at him is any indication.

Another twenty minutes in, and Zayn feels like he’ll never be clean again. His hands and knees are sticky, and though he wants to push his hair from his face (most of the product having lost the fight against gravity and heat) he’ll be damned if he transfers any of the grime on his hands to his head. He’s this close to giving up - honestly, spending the night with Liam sounds wonderful, despite his humiliation and the fact that he can never look him in the eyes again, now that Liam’s seen how terrible he looks - when he spots something shiny on the dance floor. Sure that it’s a bottlecap once again, he nevertheless squirms his way towards it, careful to avoid any stomping heels when he reaches out. 

His heart does this odd sort of thump when his fingers close around the familiar key chain, and when Liam, close behind him, asks him if he’s found them, he has a split second where he wants to stuff them in his pocket and pretend he hasn’t. 

Instead he slowly pushes himself up to his feet, glad for the proximity to the wall, because his knees are aching and he feels a bit dizzy with the heat. “Yeah,” he says, opening his hand and showing Liam the keys. “Thank fuck.”

Liam leans next to him, resting the back of his head against the wall. He glances at Zayn and laughs, and Zayn only has to look down at himself, at the absolute appalling state he’s in, to burst out into laughter too. “Fuck,” he says, once he’s caught his breath. “I need like, an hour long shower.”

Liam hums, gives him this sweet little smile that Zayn really wants to tell him off for, because Zayn’s lost a little bit of his heart to him, and he is in danger of not getting it back. “You’re still the best looking guy in this club,” he says, and shrugs. “I mean, I would’ve said hottest, but, with the way you’re sweating, you’d probably have taken offense.”

Zayn snorts. “Nah,” he tells him, pocketing his keys. “You’ve been so nice to me all evening. I think I’d have understood.”

“Would you have, really?” Liam arches an eyebrow. “Because everything I’ve said, you’ve pretty much shrugged it off.” He leans a bit closer, plucks _something_ out of Zayn’s hair. “I’ve been trying to flirt with you ever since you came over, and you just chalk it up to me being _nice_.”

Zayn glances down, at the way Liam’s equally filthy, at how he’s crawled around trying to find Zayn’s keys for him. It’s a weird way of flirting, but he can’t deny that it feels nice, having Liam go through that effort. He doesn’t understand it, but he decides to go for broke anyway. “Is it too late to pretend I haven’t found my keys?” He asks, looking up at him with a self conscious smile. “I mean, I still need that shower, and I could pretend that mine’s broken, but I think we’d both know that’s a lie. Can I come home with you just because?”

Liam grins. “I’d like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this story, please leave kudos/a comment, and if you want to, reblog the [fic post](https://so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed.tumblr.com/post/186721334983/eyes-up-on-the-prizeziam-3624-t-theres-this) and come say hi on Tumblr!


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